


The Catch

by dierdele



Series: Games [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Edging, It's awards night and harry wants to play a game, NSFW, clumsy fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dierdele/pseuds/dierdele
Summary: “You don’t think you’ll win, right?” Harry says. Dele shakes his head slowly, tries to decipher what’s going on behind those mischievous eyes. “It won’t matter, then, what I do to you on the day?”Or, Dele doesn't think he'll win the FPA Young Player of the Year award but Harry thinks he will, so they decide to make a bet.





	The Catch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustinTimberlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustinTimberlake/gifts).



The second time, it’s a game that gets out of hand.

Dele had insisted over and over again that he wouldn’t win the PFA Young Player of the Year award two years in a row. He was lucky enough to win last year, and then to be nominated again, but there was no way he was going to win twice. Harry had disagreed and they’d argued about it over milkshakes in a cafe in North London. Harry had still paid, of course (it was, after all, his idea to go there anyway) but he clearly wasn’t happy about the way they’d left the conversation. He’d been pushing it all night, and now he’s nudging Dele with his foot while they relax on the sofa together.

“I still think you’re wrong about the PFA award,” Harry says with a little huff. Dele is a little warmed by how insistent Harry is that he will win, but at the same time he just doesn’t believe it will happen. He keeps his focus on the TV. They’re watching some boring American football documentary that Harry picked.  

“Are we really going to argue about this again?” Dele asks, kicking Harry’s foot away.

“How sure are you that you won’t get it?”

Dele shrugs. “Pretty sure.”

“Then let’s make it a game.”

Dele pauses and looks across at Harry. There’s a twinkle in his eye that Dele  _ knows _ and it sends shivers down his spine. It’s the look Harry gets when he’s come up with some elaborate plan to get Dele on his knees, begging for Harry’s come or a spanking or whatever else Harry has decided to offer up that night. And these plans very rarely fail.

“What kind of game?” Dele asks, keeping his tone neutral. He doesn’t want to let on that he knows where Harry is going with this. He wants Harry to have to sell it to him first.

“If you don’t win, you get to fuck me,” Harry replies simply. He looks across the sofa at Dele and Dele tries not to let the blush creep too high up his neck. He’s always been the bottom so far, and he’s been more than happy with that. But now that he’s presented with the opportunity to both beat Harry  _ and  _ fuck him… well, he’s definitely considering showing an interest in this new game.

“And what if I win?” Dele asks sceptically. There’s a big part of this game missing and Dele isn’t agreeing to it without knowing exactly what Harry intends to get out of it.

Harry shrugs and smiles at Dele sincerely. “Nothing,” he says. Dele levels him a look. There’s no way Harry wants  _ nothing. _

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t think you’ll win, right?” Harry says. Dele shakes his head slowly, tries to decipher what’s going on behind those mischievous eyes. “It won’t matter, then, what I do to you on the day?”

_ Ah.  _ There’s always a catch.

“What will you do to me?”

“If, say, I wanted to get down on my knees and suck you off right before the award, that wouldn’t be a problem?”

Dele is really struggling to see how that would be a problem in  _ any  _ circumstance. He shakes his head.

“And if I wanted to take you to the bathroom and finger you at some point, that wouldn’t be a problem either?”

Dele tongues the inside of his mouth and continues shaking his head. He doesn’t really know where Harry is going with this, or why Harry would think that sucking him off or fingering him would somehow be an inconvenience to Dele.

“Then it’s a deal?” Harry bites his bottom lip and his eyes become darker. Dele feels a stir in his boxers.

“The deal is that if I win, you suck me off in a bathroom or whatever, and if I don’t win, I get to fuck you?”

“That’s the deal.”

Dele laughs disbelievingly and holds out his hand. Harry shakes it. “Deal.”

***

_ There’s always a fucking catch. _

They’ve arrived at the prestigious hotel where the awards evening is being held and Harry has found a secluded corner in the underground car park to pull up. Dele is sitting in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, and Harry is absolutely going to town on him.

His mouth is hot and warm and he keeps spitting on Dele’s dick before dipping his head, long and slow and torturous. Dele is bucking his hips but Harry isn’t giving. He’s not going to make him come. Dele realises this now, realises what he’s let himself in for. He’s already hot under his collar and he knows his lips are swollen from how hard he’s been biting them.

Harry holds his legs in place and doesn’t let up. They need to go inside in the next few minutes but Harry seems determined to get Dele as hard and as messy as possible. He’s doing ridiculous things with his tongue and it’s making Dele’s head swim. He licks his way up Dele’s dick before lapping up some more precome and gently sucking on the tip. Dele groans and Harry digs his fingers into Dele’s thigh to quieten him.

“Right,” Harry says suddenly, lifting himself off Dele’s cock and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s go.”

Dele is throbbing. His dick is coated in a mixture of precome and Harrys’ saliva, which has also dripped around his balls and into his boxers. He barely even has chance to catch his breath and put himself away before Harry is opening the door.

“Come on, Del, we haven’t got all day,” Harry says as he walks around the car and opens the passenger door. Dele is fumbling to pull up his pants and straighten himself up. He so badly wants to finish himself off before they go into the hotel but he dreads to think of the punishment that would elicit from Harry.

Harry’s punishments aren’t even the good forms of punishment, either. He started out by tying up Dele’s hands and sticking a vibrator up his ass, which seemed to work until Dele actually came hands-free one evening. Then he moved on to making Dele piss himself, but they both quickly realised that was more of a turn on than a punishment. Dele had  _ loved  _ it and Harry had got so worked up seeing him in such a vulnerable state that he’d fucked Dele right there and then on the wet bed sheets.

After that, Harry had got creative with the punishments. No more vibrators, no more tied hands, no more spanking. Now he just masturbated in front of Dele, refusing to let Dele get involved. And if Dele so much as  _ thought _ about touching himself, he would be forced to go without sex for three days.

So as bad as Dele wants to touch himself right now and bring about some relief, he knows it isn’t worth the punishment. Plus Dele is a good boy, and if Harry doesn’t make him come, it’s because he’s not  _ allowed  _ to come.

“All good?” Harry asks, licking the last of Dele’s precome from his lips. Dele almost buckles at the sight, but he forces himself upright, holds onto the car, and nods politely.

“All good.”

They walk into the gleaming hotel lobby together and are given their passes. There’s a swarm of media asking for interviews and photos, which usually they’d bypass at any other event, but tonight Harry seems to be feeling generous.

He pulls Dele with him into every photo, putting his hand on the small of Dele’s back and lightly scratching. Dele grins for the flash of cameras and prays the bulge in his pants is covered by his suit jacket.

“How does it feel to be nominated two years in a row?” A female voice asks them. Dele locates the woman in the crowd of photographers and smiles at her, even though Harry’s hand is now trailing up and down his spine, hidden from the cameras.

“Feels great,” Dele says as he briskly walks over to her, leaving Harry to deal with the photographers. He’s doing everything he can to appear calm and collected.

“And to follow on from Harry Kane, too. It’s been a great two years for Spurs, hasn’t it?”

“It really has,” Dele smiles. “And of course it feels great to share this award with Harry. He’s a great teammate.”

“Would you say sharing this experience has brought the two of you closer?”

“Definitely,” Harry interrupts, suddenly appearing back at Dele’s side. Dele turns to look at Harry and Harry holds his gaze for a second. “Wouldn’t you agree, Del?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Dele nods, and Harry grins wolfishly at him. Dele wants to stay on the sidelines and answer some more questions from the pretty interviewer, but Harry has other ideas for him. He pulls Dele out of the crowd and they slip away down a hallway.

“In here,” Harry says, opening a bathroom door for Dele. Dele ducks under Harry’s arm and does as he’s told, heading inside. Harry follows him in and proceeds to open all of the stall doors, checking the place is empty. Once they can see that nobody is inside, Harry pushes Dele up against the sinks and starts softly biting his lips.

Dele moans into the kiss, letting Harry lick into his mouth, but as much as he’s loving the unexpected attention, he can’t help but glance at the door every few seconds. The worry that someone might come in must be evident on his expression because Harry eventually relents and pulls Dele into the far stall, locking the door behind them.

“Better?” Harry asks. Dele flashes him a quick, grateful smile before Harry is attacking him again. He’s all tongue and teeth and Harry is kissing him with the kind of fierce determination that makes Dele instantly hard again. He knows now that Harry is going to keep him hard  _ all  _ evening, and that in itself is what Harry is getting out of this. Dele will always be one rub, one misplaced touch away from coming in his pants. Harry loves having that kind of control and Dele can’t deny that he loves it too.

“Open your mouth,” Harry orders firmly. Dele opens his mouth and pants a little, tiling his head back and looking at Harry through his gauzy, almost drunken vision. Harry bites Dele’s bottom lip one more time before bringing two fingers to his mouth. “Suck ‘em.”

Dele sucks them. He swirls his tongue in between them and sucks like his life depends on it. Harry twitches and bucks his hips into Dele’s, and Dele knows he’ll be punished for that later.

Harry pulls his fingers from Dele’s mouth starts unbuttoning Dele’s trousers. It’s a welcome relief when finally his pants are around his ankles and his dick isn’t being pressed against the tight fabric anymore.

Harry spins Dele so that he’s facing the wall, pushes him with some force so that Dele’s hands are pressed against the cool tiles, and then yanks down his boxers. For extra measure, he sticks his fingers back in Dele’s mouth one more time.

“Spread,” Harry demands. Dele spreads his legs as far as his trousers will let him. His heart is racing and his breath keeps getting caught in his throat. He wants to rub his dick against the wall but he’s afraid Harry will see it.

With one quick motion, Harry slips a finger up Dele’s ass. He’s slow and careful at first, letting Dele familiarise himself with the sensation. Once Dele feels himself go slack and fully relax, that’s when Harry really starts to fuck him. He pops another finger inside and positions himself so that he can get the best angles.

“Fuck-” Dele gasps. He can’t help but be a little naughty and lean back into Harry’s fingers. He knows if his dick touches the wall too much, he’s going to start coming, so he has to roll his hips into the air and curve his back a little.

Harry continues to fuck him with his fingers, twisting and turning in all the right ways. Dele moans into the wall and bites the skin on the back of his arm to stop himself being too loud.

“You’re a good-” Harry stops sharply and freezes. The door to the bathroom has just swung open and two men have come inside. Their voices are unmistakable. Gareth Southgate and Jordan Pickford.  

Dele feels himself burning up. His heart is thumping hard in his chest and he knows if he makes any sound at all, they’re going to be noticed.

Then Harry does the worst thing imaginable. He starts pulling his fingers out, only to slowly push them back in again. Thankfully, Harry has already covered Dele’s mouth his his hand, so the whimper that escapes Dele gets absorbed into Harry’s fingers.

Southgate and Pickford go about their business while Harry continues pumping his fingers into Dele’s asshole, speeding up and then slowing down when Dele’s internal groans are getting too loud.

_ Fuck.  _ Dele’s going to come. He can feel it rising up in him, can feel his balls tensing up. All he needs is a little bit of friction and for Harry to hit his g-spot one more time. He lowers himself further onto Harry, hoping Harry will read the signals and grant him a release.

Harry reads the signals, but instead of curling his fingers up inside the way Dele likes, he pulls them out altogether. Dele whimpers, almost buckling at the knees from the sudden emptiness he feels. Harry removes his hand from Dele’s mouth and grabs Dele’s trousers from around his ankles, yanking them up.

Dele has no idea what is happening and he’s still panting and breathless but Harry is spinning him around and doing up the top button and then, much to Dele’s horror, he’s opening the door and pushing Dele out into the bathroom.

Dele stumbles forward, completely lost for words. Gareth is standing at the sinks. He catches Dele in the reflection of the mirror.

“Hey, Dele,” Gareth greets warmly, shaking water off his hands.

Dele quickly hurries to the sink and busies himself with soaping up his hands.  _ Fuck fuck fuck.  _ “Hi, boss,” he croaks. He clears his throat and looks up. In the mirror, he can see Harry standing silently in the stall, waiting to see what will happen.

“Hoping to win two years in a row?” Gareth asks. He moves over to the hand dryers which are by the door and Dele breathes a small sigh of relief. He just needs to hold it together for maybe thirty seconds.  

“Ah,” Dele answers, his voice small. “I doubt it.”

God, he’s really going to fuck Harry good tonight.

“Well best of luck to you,” Gareth replies once he’s finished drying his hands. Dele presses himself against the sinks to hide his twitching erection.

“Thanks, boss!”

Gareth shoots him one last smile before opening the door and leaving the bathroom.

Dele exhales loudly and collapses against the sinks. His fly is still undone and his dick is straining against his tight trousers.

“All good?” Harry asks with a smirk as he walks out of the stall and washes his hands. Dele watches him with a look of total exasperation. He can still feel the ghost of Harry’s fingers inside him. “Come on,” Harry ushers. “We’ve got a dinner to attend and you’ve got an award to win.”

Dele thinks for sure that Harry won’t be able to keep this game up throughout dinner, but, like always, he has massively underestimated Harry’s ability to keep him hard at all times. They’re sat together at a circular table with Southgate, Henderson, Pickford and their respective wives and girlfriends. For the most part, they talk among themselves or listen to the presentation, completely oblivious to the fact that Harry is groping Dele under the table.

Dele sits still, proving how well-behaved he can be, even though Harry’s fingers are stroking his balls and grabbing his dick through his trousers.

The presentation goes on and on and on, and Dele pays attention to maybe two or three minutes of it in total. The rest of the time, he’s simply focused on keeping a straight face and not coming in his pants.

Kanté has just stepped up to collect his Player’s Player of the Year award when Dele feels his trousers being unzipped. He fixes a sideways glance at Harry, but Harry ignores him and keeps his focus on the stage.

Dele almost chokes on his water when he feels Harry reach into his boxers and pull his dick out, lifting it through his fly.

_ Deep breaths.  _ He can do this. He can be good. His dick is out under the table and Gareth Southgate is sitting barely a meter away but he can do this.  

Harry begins to stroke him under the table. Dele’s clutches his bottle of water and chews the inside of his mouth. He’s dangerously, dangerously close to-

“Parfait,” Dele says suddenly, and Harry immediately stops.

The whole table turns to look at him and Dele feels himself turning red. He does his best to laugh it off. “Wish there was parfait!” He says, grinning awkwardly. Gareth eyes him suspiciously and Harry laughs.

“You feeling okay, Del?” He asks. Dele nods.

“Just hungry.”

“We’ve just eaten,” Gareth comments, but thankfully there’s some applause around the room and everyone gets distracted by what’s happening up on the stage.

Dele sinks back in his chair and tries not to feel like he’s let himself down. It’s the first time he’s had to use his safeword and he really hopes Harry isn’t disappointed with him. Deep down he knows Harry would rather he use it than come on the table and ruin the game, but still, he wanted to last longer than this. He wanted to be  _ good. _

Harry looks over at him and issues him a warm, understanding smile. One that Dele is incredibly grateful for. Using the safeword also grants Dele fifteen minutes of strictly no action. Harry sticks to his word and doesn’t touch him, giving Dele enough time to lose his erection and focus on the presentation.

There’s a short break right before the Young Player of the Year award and Dele decides to use this time to get a drink and freshen up. Harry follows him to the bar and stops right behind him, almost too close.

“You look nervous,” Harry comments over Dele’s shoulder, only loud enough for Dele to hear. Dele keeps his eyes forward, waiting to be served. “You worried you might win?”

“No,” Dele says quietly. A small smile starts to play on his lips. “I’m just thinking about what position I’m going to fuck you in tonight.”

Harry falls silent and edges a little closer. Dele knows without a doubt he’s getting punished for that one.

“Meet me in our stall in two minutes. If you’re late, you have to sleep in my guest bedroom for the next five nights.”

Harry disappears before Dele can protest. He hangs around at the bar for a few seconds longer, waiting to see how long this will take him. Just as the bartender walks over to him, he decides it’s not worth the risk and turns on his heels to follow Harry.

The bathroom they used earlier is on the other side of the hotel, which guarantees it will be empty. Dele arrives to find Harry standing by the sinks, leaning with his back to them.

“We’ve got five minutes, maybe ten at a push,” Harry comments, and then gestures with his head to the last stall. Dele nods and walks over to it, letting Harry follow him inside before he locks the door.

Harry doesn’t waste a single second. Dele’s trousers are around his ankles and Harry is on his knees before Dele can even utter a word. He’s somewhat annoyed at himself for  _ already  _ being hard. Harry, on the other hand, looks rather impressed with himself.

“Turn around.”

Dele turns around, face against the tiles just as before. Harry knocks his legs open and and presses his tongue flat against Dele’s asshole.

“Oh-  _ fuck _ !” Dele moans loudly. Harry stands up straight and positions his mouth next to Dele’s ear.

“Are you a good boy?” He asks, soft but still somehow stern. It gives Dele goosebumps. He nods emphatically. “Can you be quiet for me?” Dele nods again. “If you’re quiet, I’ll reward you, okay?” Dele keeps nodding and Harry places a kiss on his temple.

Harry’s tongue is back in Dele’s asshole within seconds. Dele bites down on his bottom lip to keep himself quiet, which is really fucking difficult when Harry Kane is eating you out like there’s no tomorrow. But he’s good, he’s a good boy, and he’s going to be quiet so he can get his reward, even if it means biting his lip so hard that he draws blood - which he does.

There’s a sudden change in sensation when Harry replaces his tongue with his fingers and starts pushing his way inside again. Dele closes his eyes and wills himself to be quiet, even as Harry starts to curl his fingers. Then the fingers are gone again and Dele turns to look at Harry with his most pleading expression.

That’s when he sees the same look on Harry’s face that he saw on the sofa. The one that means he’s got an idea.

“On your knees,” Harry says. He’s undoing his trousers.

Dele obliges, waits for Harry to pull his boxers down. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. As soon as Harry’s cock is in his face, he gets to work sucking on it. Harry only lets him have his fun for maybe ten, twenty seconds before he’s pulling Dele up from under his arms.

“Turn back around.”

Dele is flat against the tiles again. Harry holds him by the hips and lines himself up.

_ Oh. Oh, fuck _ .

Harry slowly pushes himself into Dele and places his hand back over Dele’s mouth. Dele is so desperate to be fucked that he starts licking Harry’s hand until Harry eventually relents and sticks two fingers in his mouth, giving him something to suck on.

This isn’t the first time Dele has been reminded of his serious oral fixation.

Harry fucks him hard, fast, and dirty. He has one hand over Dele’s mouth and the other wrapped around his stomach, every now and then reaching down to stroke Dele’s cock a few times. Dele thrusts into the touches, begging for more, but Harry keeps him on edge with teasing strokes and then a whole minute of nothing.

“Oh,” Harry breathes. Dele can feel him getting harder, his whole body tensing up as he slams into Dele’s ass. “Oh, fuck,  _ Del-” _

Dele sucks as hard as he possibly can on Harry’s fingers, covering them in saliva and working his tongue all over them. He feels Harry buck into him a few more times, and then the warmth of Harry’s come shooting inside of him.

Dele’s cock is throbbing. He’s so desperate to come that all he needs at this point is one quick stroke from Harry and he’ll explode.

“All good?” Harry asks. Dele wants to scream. No, no he’s not fucking good. He needs to come, like,  _ right now _ , or he might die.

Dele takes a deep breath and nods. He’s determined to be a good boy because he wants his reward. “All good,” he says, his voice a little shaky.

He goes to grab some toilet paper so he can clean himself up but Harry stops him. He has that look in his eyes again.

“Pull your trousers back up,” Harry says. Dele moves his hand away from the toilet paper and instead pulls up his boxers and trousers. “Let’s go.”

They leave the bathroom together after washing their hands and bump into a few of the England Under 21 coaches along the way. They warmly greet each other and Harry immediately goes full media-mode, shaking hands and joking around and being an all-round great guy, as usual.

Dele wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. They all look at Harry as if he’s the most wonderful, angelic person they’ve ever set eyes on. Little do they know, Harry’s come is currently leaking out of Dele’s asshole.

They only just make it back in time for the Young Player of the Year award. Gareth gives them both a scolding look when they take their seats, a few minutes late to the presentation.

“I can’t wait to post a photo of you on my Instagram with your award,” Harry says, leaning across the table. Dele nudges him away. He’s so not going to win.  

And then he does. Of course he fucking does. Harry probably paid them to give it to Dele.

Dele wouldn’t put it past him.

He’s forced up to the stage to accept his award and give a little speech. Thankfully, the podium is perfectly positioned to hide his aching erection. As he gives his speech and thanks his coaches and teammates, he feels the last of Harry’s come drip down his balls and into his boxers. He can barely even concentrate on what he’s saying because it actually fucking  _ tickles. _

Dele accepts his award and heads back down to his table to a round of applause. No one looks happier for him than Harry.

“Congratulations, Del!” Harry says enthusiastically when Dele takes his seat. He’s absolutely beaming and Dele thinks for sure that Harry has paid off the PFA to make this happen.

The whole table pass around their congratulations and Dele nods a quick thank you. The award is great and all, but really all he can think about right now is the persistent ache of his erection.

Harry senses his discomfort and tells Gareth that he has to shoot off early as he’s got a family member coming over. He explains that he gave Dele a lift, so Dele is going to leave too. Gareth looks a little suspicious but he doesn’t put up any complaints.

Harry lifts his suit jacket off the back of his chair and starts making his way through the tables. Dele follows and keeps his eyes on the floor.

“Dele!” A voice calls out in the lobby. It’s the crowd of photographers. “Quick photo of you with your award?”

Harry grins and pulls Dele over to the crowd, makes him stand in front of the backdrop with his award while cameras flash in his face.  _ Please be waist up,  _ he thinks.

“Can’t wait to upload that later,” Harry teases as they start walking down to the car park. Dele pouts and keeps quiet. He walks a little closer to Harry and Harry loops an arm around his shoulders once they’re out of sight.

He feels completely drained despite purposely  _ not  _ being drained today. His head is still swimming from being fucked in the bathroom and now he’s won this award and there’s come in his pants and there’s just… there’s a lot going through his mind right now.  

“You okay?” Harry asks seriously when they reach the car. Dele looks up and nods, moving around to the passenger side. He climbs into the car and sits perfectly still, waiting for Harry to take them home. He feels completely brain dead.

Harry looks around, checking to make sure no one else is in the car park. “You want me to make you come now?” He asks softly. Dele turns to look at him and feels his heart leap into his throat. He suddenly feels a little bit overwhelmed by how much he loves Harry Kane.

“Yes, please,” he answers quietly, almost pathetically.

Harry motions for him to pull down his trousers again and Dele thinks he’s had this suit around his ankles  more than he’s actually worn it today.

It takes all of about thirty seconds of Harry lapping at his dick before Dele is finally, painfully, and gratefully shooting come into Harry’s mouth. It’s the best release he’s ever felt and his whole body is tingling.

Harry swallows Dele’s come and then licks his lips. Dele watches him with a loving, satisfied smile on his face. He loves him  _ so fucking much _ .

“All good?” Harry asks, turning the key and bringing the car to life. Dele exhales and sinks into his seat, his dick twitching on his stomach and his award nestled between his feet.

“All good.”


End file.
